


victory souvenirs

by mushydesserts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Image, Gen, Insecurity, M/M, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, weight loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushydesserts/pseuds/mushydesserts
Summary: Prompto is sweating up a storm. He is about to lose his own body weight in water. He groans. "Dude. I am dying here.""Then lose the shirt."The guys are always ribbing each other about their bodies. Prompto, feeling insecure, gets a pep-talk.Prompto and Gladio bonding. (Scars, stretch marks, body image and self-esteem issues.)





	

 

So. They'd already explored Lucis' finest abandoned caves, ice-filled caves, snake-filled caves, water-logged caves and haunted caves (they were _haunted_ , Noct, I know you can talk to dead people or whatever but they're still _ghosts_ ), and now Prompto thinks they might have just discovered his new least-favorite kind of cave.

Acid caves. Of course those are a thing.

They'd looked like regular old water-logged caves at first, to be fair. This was already something Prompto didn't approve of.

"Dude, seriously? Do we have to go in here?" Prompto had said.

Noctis had given him a look, already ankle-deep and resolute. "It's two fucking feet deep, Prompto. I won't let anything happen to you."

Because Prompto had still been too stunned by the Crown Prince of Lucis displaying protective instincts over Him, A Commoner, to say no to that, and because Ignis and Gladio had apparently skipped their Self-Preservation Instinct classes at Royal School, they'd probably made it a mile underground before anybody realized anything was more wrong than usual.

"Do you smell that?"

"Shit. Something's burning."

Ignis lifts a foot with a slosh. "It's the water," he observes.

"The water's burning? Guys, pretty sure that's not supposed to happen."

"All right, everybody out."

"There's no out but back."

"Anybody got water? Real water?"

"I got blizzard spells, but that probably won't help right now."

"Yeah, not likely."

"Man, I feel like I've got sunburn on the bottom of my feet."

"Noct. Shall we make a tactical retreat?"

"Better do it before we run into anything that splashes."

"Didn't I say this would be a bad idea?"

Noctis grimaces. "Okay! Everybody just hold on. We're going."

There's a minor scuffle as everybody wades in to crowd around Noct in the dark, then a fizzle, a flash of light, and a burst of cold air. Thank the gods for Noct's warping ability, even if it makes Prompto feel like he's been momentarily turned inside-out.

"Whoo," Prompto says, closing his eyes and blinking rapidly as they adjust to the sunlight. He puts his hands on his knees. "That was faster than usual. Nobody throw up, or I might throw up."

Nobody else appears to be having a problem. Gladio's already trotting rapidly across the grassy field towards the nearby stream, peeling his jacket off. Ignis is doing the same.

"Guys?"

Noctis grumbles, slipping off his coat and hopping out of his boots. "Prompto, come on."

Prompto trails behind, bewildered. "Wait? Guys. What's happening?"

"Water, dumbass," Noct says. His voice is muffled as he pulls his tee over his head.

"Off," Ignis says pointedly, setting his glasses on his head and unbuttoning his shirt one-handed.

"You too, kid," Gladio calls.

Prompto looks between his three rapidly-stripping friends. It's broad daylight. There's a road at the other end of the clearing. He can't see any cars, but with their luck, someone'll drive by any minute now.

"Ah," Prompto says. "Are we really... oh."

There's a curse and a splash. This is happening. He can see Ignis' ass cheeks. A flash of Noct's upper thighs. Gladio's, oh, no. (Oh? his mind suggests. No! he screams back at it.) He averts his gaze, or tries to. Prompto's sure his face is on fire.

"Oh yes. Take it off, Prom," Noct says.

"No thanks! I'm fine right here," Prompto insists.

Noct glances at him. Somewhere downstream, Gladio's resurfacing from a dip into the water, and Ignis is wading in as he pulls his gloves off. Noct takes in Prompto's vest, soaked with sour-smelling water, and Prompto's pants, dark and clinging to his legs. Prompto tries not to squelch as he shifts.

Eventually, Noct shrugs. "Well, suit yourself. You wanna stand there til you dissolve, fine with me. Just don't do it in the car."

Noct turns and marches into the stream.

Prompto looks behind him. He looks at the stream in front of him. He looks — _doesn't_ look at his naked road buddies rinsing themselves off. His calves are starting to itch.

Prompto can't believe they're being forced to strip off in a field and nothing sexy is happening. All his dating games have lied to him.

"Oh, boy," Prompto announces to himself in a strangled voice. "Okay."

He takes a deep breath and takes off his vest.

\---

"We'll leave the clothes here for now, then take them in to dry once we set up camp."

"Stuff's in the car. Guess someone's gonna have to get it."

"I can bring us back to the car, just... we'll have to make it out to the campground."

"Well, just find me a dry pair of pants. I'm good."

"I can come with. Or perhaps two of us should stay?"

A long pause, and then Noct's voice, deliberately louder. "What do you say, Prom?"

"I'm fine here," Prompto says, staring at the sky.

There's the crunch of gravel, and then a shirtless Prince enters his field of vision.

"You getting out of there anytime soon?" Noct says, tee in one hand, other hand on his hip.

Prompto's on his back, partly underwater and mostly hidden behind a rock. The trees provide shade here, which is pleasant, even if the sun's starting to go down. "Nope, this is good."

"Thought you wouldn't like swimming, since you hate water and all."

"That was cave water. This? This water's real nice," Prompto says. His teeth are chattering.

Noct wrings his shirt out and rolls his eyes. "Okay, Prompto," he says. "Iggs, Prompto's staying. You wanna look after him?"

"Of course. Best bring us towels, if you can."

"Sure thing."

Gladio and Noct tromp off, bickering hotly about which camp site is closer and who forgot to rent the chocobos. Their voices rapidly fade.

There's a silence, and then Ignis' dry voice. "I am clothed now, Prompto. Thank you for respecting my modesty."

Prompto peeks over the rock.

Ignis is only sort-of clothed, wearing his damp open shirt and shorts (boxers, who knew?). Minus Gladio's briefs and Noct's capris, the rest of their gear is hanging from various branches nearby. Prompto's own vest and trousers are in a pile on the ground.

Prompto stands, tentative. His wet shirt and boxers cling to him. He shivers.

"I daresay you'll be warmer if you wring those out," Ignis says.

"Nah. This is refreshing," Prompto says. Water drips from him in steady streams.

Ignis looks at him consideringly, then shakes his head. "Come on, then. Help me get a campfire started while we wait. The daemons shouldn't be out yet, but we can't be too careful."

Prompto squeezes the bottom of his shirt. He glances surreptitiously at the sky again. It'll be dark soon.

He wades towards the shore. "Sure, Iggy."

\---

Prompto hates taking off his shirt.

Don't get him wrong. He's worked hard on his body, and he's proud of it. He likes that he can run faster and sprint longer than Noct can. He likes that he can see the muscles in his arms now, even if they're pasty and kinda speckled in a weird way. He's finally got his hairstyle just right, too, even if the wind constantly messes it up. It's tousled and casual, and nothing like a chocobo butt.

But if he looks — and he knows exactly where to look — there are the traces of the shape he used to be, and that's what bothers him.

Doesn't help that he's always in the company of Six-sent fashion models. Gladio's abs stop traffic (as numerous hitchhiking experiments have proved), Ignis probably came out of the womb sparkling, and he's pretty sure Noct's never given a thought to what he eats a day in his life, but he's slender and he's got skin like porcelain and hair like silk and he's even just a little taller than Prompto if he bothers to stand up straight.

He's in close quarters with them all the time, and when they're camping or crammed into a caravan, and he knows way, way too much about his best friends' musculature. The close-up opportunities are great for developing his photography skills, but not-so-great for developing his self-esteem.

Prompto always has his back turned when he changes, like if he can't see them then they can't see him.

Yeah, right. More like none of them would ever even bother to look. It still makes him feel better.

\---

"Are you getting ready to work out?"

"Heh. Am I ever not ready?"

"It's night already."

"And we've been in the car all day. Perfect time to stretch out."

"Yeah, no thanks. I'm out. You have fun."

"Suit yourself. Prom, you want a round?"

"All right, big guy! Be right there."

\---

Prompto actually kind of wonders what it's like to just be born looking great and not have to work at it. People say you appreciate things more when you have to earn them, but Prompto thinks he'd probably appreciate not having to earn things in the first place.

The others sure don't seem to struggle all that much with how they look. With Ignis and Gladio, looks mostly seem to be about function — you do your job, and you look like you can do your job, and that's good enough. With Noct, well, Noct seems to spend more time trying to hide and look average than anything else. Gladio's on Noct's case for being puny all the time, and Noct doesn't seem to mind too much.

Prompto does ask about it once, when Noct is off fishing for some elusive carp or other for the second day in a row. They've set up the camp chairs nearby. Gladio's reading a book with his feet up on a log, while Ignis flips through a magazine and calmly reminds Noct to respool the line.

Prompto hovers near Gladio, fiddling with his camera. He takes a shot across the lake. He glances at Gladio.

"You know, you're always calling Noct scrawny," he says.

Gladio doesn't look up from his book. "Yup."

Prompto ducks a little. "Why? I'm scrawnier than he is."

Gladio leans back in his chair to give him a flat upside-down stare. "You ever seen Noct eat a vegetable on his own? Get in up the morning? Exercise?"

"Well, no."

"When you've tried to peel Noct off his ass to get him to do those things for ten years in a row, come back and tell me I shouldn't get on his case for being scrawny." Gladio goes back to his book.

This doesn't really answer his question, but maybe he just doesn't get it, so Prompto doesn't press further.

\---

Lestallum makes Prompto uncomfortable.

Sure, it's sunny. Yeah, it's hot.

There are a lot of people around, and they barely wear anything.

This is, in Prompto's mind, a good thing in many respects. He admires the female form just as well as anybody, and these females do seem proud of their form. The men don't wear all that much either. There's skin and glistening muscle everywhere, and Prompto tries hard not to stare.

Oddly, it's made easier by the fact that people here stare back. Maybe they're not used to visitors from Insomnia. A fair amount of people seem to recognize Noct, too, and seem happy to wave when he catches them looking.

It's fine when they stare at Noct. He's the Prince. It'd be weirder if they didn't stare. When they stare at Gladio or Ignis, it's because they're Gladio and Ignis. Prompto's seen them both in formal uniform before, and they're devastating and terrifying, which is probably why they were chosen to protect Noct.

When people stare at Prompto, it's because something's the matter. Always is.

He airs out these concerns late one night, sitting at a stall at the street market with Ignis and trying out the fried meat skewers. Across the way, a group of three young men are standing around under an awning. One of them keeps peering at Prompto between pulls of his cigarette.

"Is he doing it again? I'm just being paranoid, right?"

Ignis chews thoughtfully, barely glancing up. "No, you're right. He's looking."

"I knew it. He keeps staring at me. Is there something wrong with my hair? My face. There's something on it, isn't there?"

Ignis looks at him, frowning. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Prompto ducks and scratches his neck, and then Ignis suggests: "Perhaps he's merely interested in getting to know you better."

Prompto whips his head around. "Yeah, right," he splutters. "Ain't everybody got the luck with the lads you do, Specs."

Ignis snorts. "If you'd give yourself a little credit, maybe you'd actually find out what kind of luck you have."

Prompto shoves another skewer into his mouth to hide his embarrassment and gnaws forcefully. Ignis orders them drinks.

Prompto keeps thinking about it, though. By the time he gulps his down and looks up again, the three guys are gone.

\---

Prompto suspects Gladio goes easy on him when they spar.

He doesn't mind this in the least.

"Can you not move so much?" Prompto has his hands on his knees, and his chest is on fire.

Gladio shifts his stance. "I'd stop moving if I was dead," he says.

Prompto is sweating up a storm. He is about to lose his own body weight in water. He groans. "Dude. I am dying here."

"Then lose the shirt."

Prompto looks at the sun, sitting low on the horizon.

Maybe it's dark enough that nobody will notice. Hell, nobody'll notice anyway, what's he worried about?

He hesitates.

He ties the bottom of his shirt up.

Gladio looks unfazed and slightly smug. Prompto feels his face heat up, but ignores it. "Ready to go."

\---

"Why don't you take some pictures of yourself for a change?"

Prompto will take photos of anything and everything Noct asks for, and a slew of other things Noct doesn't ask for. Selfies, however, are a skill he's still working on. He's been taking photos of himself in front of the mirror for years, but never for anyone to _see,_ you know? Most of them get deleted.

The guys will yell at him for snapping shots in the middle of pitched battles, but those are _fun._ They usually come out a blurry mess, but it gets his blood pumping, and it's nice to have evidence of what a bunch of _badasses_ they are when he has the chance to show 'em around.

Still, would a badass delete twelve photos in a row because they make his cheeks look puffy? Maybe.

\---

"Oh, man. I cannot eat more lasagna."

"Want me to finish it for you?"

"Yes. No. Just... take it away."

"All right, sure."

"His highness gets no lasagna until his salad is gone, Prompto."

"You heard the man! Greens first, your highness."

"Are you kidding me? You're a stronger man than I am, Prom."

\---

So here's the thing, Prompto's at the point where he can splurge now and then without any real impact on his waistline, but he still needs to watch what he eats.

They all do. They aren't living an easy life right now, and they all need to be in top condition. Most of the food Ignis makes for them tastes fantastic, sure, but he's not just cooking for fun anymore — they all need to eat well if they want to tough it out on the road these few months. It's not about looks, it's about survival.

So Prompto knows that when Ignis digs him about eating at the Crow's Nest, it's genuinely for his own good. And Noct just teases him about looking fat in selfies because it's Noct — Noct can't care less about whether he's fat or skinny. He's pretty sure all of them could balloon to flan proportions before Noct would even notice.

But deep down, the chubby kid still winces, and it still kind of makes his palms sweat.

\---

Galdin Quay is like something from a painting.

Growing up, Prompto never had much of a chance to visit the beach. Noct and Gladio have been before, and seem pleased at Prompto's awe about the whole affair. There's sand! Everywhere! Between his toes. Rocks and shells and fish, and salt air, and sky that just doesn't end. Prompto's amazed that people live out here and see this every day.

The summer mood seems to have all of them in better spirits than usual. Gladio even ropes Noct into learning how to surf, because apparently all it takes to get Noct to try anything is to get Gladio to accuse him of not being able to do it. And then Ignis has to buy beach shorts because he can't let them drown, and then they have to rent surfboards, and then Prompto's standing in the caravan in loose green swim trunks and wondering if he can get away with wearing the black or the red shirt on top of it.

The obvious answer is no.

He grimaces at himself in the mirror and pulls the shirt off. Yeah, that's not gonna work.

"Hey Prompto. You comin' out or what?" Noct hollers.

Prompto swivels distractedly. "Yeah, sure! I'll be right with ya," he says.

He glances back at the open door, then down at himself again. He tentatively tugs the waistband of the shorts down and prods his stomach.

Even with the lights off and the blinds down, he doesn't like it. Pasty torso, dark and light streaks at his sides, freckles and tan lines — he's going to blind someone in broad daylight. If he just...

He wishes...

Gladio sticks his head in the door. "Quit it with the hair, Prompto, nothin's gonna save it."

Prompto's hands fly to his head. "I'm not fixing my hair!"

"Oh yeah?"

"No! I'm not!" He curls in on himself. Great, now he's worried about his hair too. Where's the gel? Is that stuff even useful in the water?

Gladio looks at him, puzzled. Somewhere outside, Iggy's trying to get Noct to put sunscreen on, and Noct is whining, listen Specs, can't a man just learn to wipe out in peace?

Gladio looks back over his shoulder, then looks at Prompto again. "What is it?"

"It's nothing."

Gladio climbs into the caravan, ducking under the doorframe. "You hurt?" His voice is quiet and he looks concerned now.

"No."

"You said you were fine after we ran into those havocfangs earlier." He reaches out for Prompto's arm, and Prompto rapidly backs away.

"I really am, I am. It's nothing, just this stupid..."

Gladio backs off, but now looks exasperated. "Prompto. If it's not serious, spit it out or get over it."

Prompto looks at Gladio, whose expression is equal parts concern and bewilderment, and who is wearing shorts and an open shirt that shows off his _washboard abs_. Prompto tries to imagine Gladio ever being an awkward kid, and makes a mental note to ask Iris about it sometime. As far as Prompto can tell, Gladio has literally never been self-conscious about anything.

Gladio is still looking at him expectantly, so Prompto sighs and bites the bullet. Whatever. The guys make fun of him enough anyway, what's one more thing?

"It's this," he blurts.

He pinches the skin around his waist.

Gladio's unimpressed. "It's what?"

"I used to be kind of — a little — chubbier as a kid, all right?" Prompto holds his hands together and then pulls them apart to illustrate.

"Sure." Gladio seems unfazed, and Prompto's not sure whether Gladio knew this already or is just unsurprised.

"I'm not now, not anymore, but it took a while to grow out of it, and I still feel like people stare at me, because of — of this." Prompto falters. "Because of how I used to be."

Gladio raises an eyebrow. "Want me to punch 'em out?"

"Uh, no. Please don't. People don't really say anything, or — you know, it's not a big deal. I'm probably just imagining it."

"Then what's the worry?"

Prompto doesn't know how to explain the way he looks at himself in the mirror and mostly sees a mess of pale skin and freckles and lumps that shouldn't be there. He's got abs, you can even see 'em, but the problem is the silver streak stretch marks and wrinkles that come along.

He knows he's in much better shape than before. He's still got the photos from before, hidden away somewhere, and he knows he's changed, but...

"I don't like it, okay?" Prompto looks away, scowling. "I know, but I just don't."

Gladio casts another look over Prompto's torso, and Prompto resists the urge to cover himself. "You're fine," Gladio says.

Prompto moans. "Well, of course you don't see anything wrong."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"'Just take off your shirt,'" Prompto says. "You don't have any problems with taking off yours. Bet everybody just looks like a blur to you, Mr. Suns Out Guns Out."

"Well, I'm not wasting my time with people who'd judge. Nobody's perfect."

Prompto shoots him a look. "Except you?"

Gladio smirks. "Except me."

Prompto rolls his eyes and huffs.

When Prompto doesn't look cheered, Gladio seems to waver, like he's trying to figure out if he has to do something about this. Then he sighs.

"All right. Look." Gladio swivels around, takes a seat on the ground, and at the same time, slides off his shirt.

Prompto's mouth goes entirely dry.

Holy shit. Nobody should be built like that.

Tattoos climb up Gladio's arms, over his biceps, over his shoulders, his collarbones, down his back. Whoever he got to do them did a good job. The patterns emphasize the muscles underneath the skin somehow, as if there was a need to make a physique like Gladio's look even more buff and intimidating. There's really no fat on the man, nothing excess, just muscle tissue.

Prompto feels like he should say something, but doesn't know what he should say. A thin, incoherent noise probably wouldn't be well-received.

"That — you know, you got a lotta muscles. And I know you've had the tattoos a long time, but they still — they still sure are — there. A lot. Or one big one. A lot of tattooing," he says lamely.

"Prompto, shut up," Gladio says. He gives Prompto an impatient glare and jerks his head to beckon him over. "Look."

Prompto cautiously shuffles forward.

Gladio gathers his own hair at the nape of his neck, holding it aside so Prompto can see.

Prompto's not sure what he's looking at. Up close, Gladio's skin isn't totally flawless, and he can see a dusting of tiny moles scattered across the uninked skin, but it's nothing that would bother anybody alive. A camera wouldn't pick it up. Prompto studies the black feathers, the...

"Huh."

"Yeah." Gladio taps a spot just below his shoulder. "Touch."

Prompto feels the spot, and to his surprise, his fingers find a raised line of tissue. It's a few inches long, barely visible. As he traces it, his finger encounters another. There's a patch of rough skin near the spine, edges slightly jagged.

Prompto's never noticed.

"That's — uh, that's," Prompto says. "Those are some scars."

"Yeah," Gladio says, voice muffled as he faces forward. "There's two on this side — " Gladio reaches to tap his right shoulder, " — and three here." Gladio points to his left side, further down his back.

He's seen Gladio without a shirt before. He's even helped to patch him up after a fight. He can't remember when Gladio might've gotten them.

Prompto touches them lightly. "Wow. You can't even see 'em."

"Mm-hmm."

"Did you get the tattoos before that happened?"

"Nah. It's harder to ink over scar tissue, but you can if you get the right person to do it. Once you get it done, most new wounds heal up fine over the ink, and you can get a touch-up if you need one."

Prompto drops his hand and rocks back on his heels. "Did you... get them done on purpose?"

"To hide 'em? No." Gladio gets back up and turns around to face Prompto again. "But it works for that, too."

The shirt doesn't go back on, but it gets slung over Gladio's shoulder — probably on purpose, because Prompto's going to stare until Gladio interrupts him now. Prompto thinks about Gladio crossing his arms over his chest every time Noct stares at the scar there like he's about to ask what happened.

Prompto wonders if he's the only one that hasn't noticed. Then again, he's known Noct for the better part of a decade even if they didn't talk much before high school, and Noct's not the most observant or the most confrontational type.

"Do they bother you?" The scars, Prompto means.

"You mean do they hurt? No."

Prompto scrunches up his face. That's not what he meant.

Gladio grins. "I got nothing to be ashamed of, if that's what you mean. Getting roughed up comes with the job."

"Yeah, no, totally." If there's anything anybody knows about Gladio, it's how proud he is of his job. "And I mean, they're not that bad."

Gladio looks unimpressed, and Prompto thinks for the first time that if Gladio didn't have the tattoos, people might stare a little different when he ran around without the shirt. Even Gladio doesn't always need the reminders of what comes with that job.

Gladio studies Prompto. At last, he offers Prompto his shirt.

"Here." His voice is low. "Just for today."

Prompto takes it. It's kinda big, but he appreciates it.

"This body is mine, but it doesn't just belong to me," Gladio says quietly. He jerks his thumb back behind him. "It belongs to that idiot out there. Not because of who I was born, but because that's what I chose."

Outside the caravan, they can still hear Noct complaining and Ignis getting increasingly irate. Prompto feels a burst of affection despite himself. He gets that. He wouldn't be around if it weren't for Noct, that's for sure.

"Doesn't matter what your body looks like. It matters what you do with it." Gladio scratches the back of his head. "I can tell ya all Noct, Iggy and I care about is that you take care of it. We need our gunner."

Prompto swallows.

"Anybody ever tells you otherwise, let me know and I'll knock some sense into 'em." He claps Prompto on the shoulder. "Got it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Good. Let's go before Iggy kills that kid."

\---

"Get him, Prom! From the left!"

"Do you wanna get in here?" Gladio growls, glowering at Noct. Noct raises both hands defensively, sitting back in the camp chair with his feet up on the cooler in the shade just outside the ring.

Prompto wipes his brow. It's nearly noon, and the day is sweltering hot. They're waiting on Cid to finish a few equipment upgrades, so he and Gladio thought they'd cram a last training session while Iggy picked up supplies.

He's getting better at this. Gladio discarded his shirt about twenty minutes ago, and sure, Gladio'll use any excuse, but there was a time not all that long ago when Gladio would've had Prompto flat on the ground long before even breaking a sweat.

"You okay there, blondie?" Noct says. "Got water here if you want it."

"Nah, I'm good," Prompto says. "Five more minutes and we're done."

"Think you can last that long?" Gladio says.

"Long-distance runner here," Prompto says. "I _know_ I can."

Gladio raises his sword in both hands and steps back — an invitation to strike first. Prompto's not about to let that pass. He changes his grip on his mech, feeling his gloves slide with the sweat from his palms.

There's sweat dripping from his hair, from his nose, down the back of his neck.

Prompto stops.

"Wait."

Gladio pauses.

Gingerly, Prompto grips the hem of his shirt. He peels it up. He pulls it over his head. There. Done.

As he flushes down to his toes, somewhere to the left Noct lets out a whistle and a clap. "Oh yeah," he hoots with a broad grin.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," Gladio says, immensely satisfied. Gladio turns and gives Noct a look. Noct yells something back.

Prompto's shirt is a damp mess, barely taking up any space in his hand. He drops it to the ground. The air hits his chest and stomach, blessed relief.

When he looks at Gladio, he's smirking.

Prompto shifts his stance, and dives back in.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) There's a lot of great art out there of Prompto that involves weight loss marks, and I love it all. 
> 
> 2) Caps by noctass on Tumblr:
> 
> <http://noctass.tumblr.com/post/155160323596/how-many-scars-can-he-have>   
>  <http://noctass.tumblr.com/post/155425548586/make-that-eight-scars>
> 
> That's a lot of scars. 
> 
> It's interesting that Gladio's DLC outfit seems to literally remove some of them. And I think that of the guys, only Gladio never really remarks on Prompto's weight in-game. 
> 
> 3) how to tag because i ship almost everybody here
> 
> 4) as always, i'm on tumblr ([mushydesserts](https://mushydesserts.tumblr.com)) if you wanna chat!


End file.
